


Syncopation

by fabricdragon



Series: Complex Like Math, Smooth Like Jazz [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha Jim Moriarty, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Chess Metaphors, Dancing, First Dates, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Jazz - Freeform, M/M, Mathematics, Music, Omega Mycroft, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2018-11-30 04:24:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11455929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: Alpha Moriarty found out Mycroft's deepest secret: he's an Omega.For some reason all he did was  get him his suppressant pills and tuck him in with a blanket... and invite him to a jazz concert.sadly the Jazz date had to be rescheduled...but business comes firstFollows directly after  Complex Like Math, Smooth like Jazz (and will make more sense if you read that first although there is a slight recap)





	1. Chess Date

Mycroft had gotten everything they could have wanted from Moriarty– the codes, the plane, all of it– and he hadn’t had to give up one more thing on Sherlock. The people he reported to were furious that Moriarty was no longer in custody– Mycroft lied and said it was what he’d had to do to get the information.  They had to admit he’d gotten more information than they’d even known to ask for.

But James Moriarty had found out Mycroft was an Omega… and Mycroft had found out– too late– that Moriarty was an Alpha. As an Alpha, the guards and restraints they’d used were laughable.  They HAD Alpha restraints, of course, but with Alphas and Omegas combined being about equal in population to red-heads– about 2% of the population– it had never once occurred to anyone to check.

Besides, if he HAD been an Alpha, he would have simply broken the restraints, or killed the guards who tried to move him…

Or killed the men who interrogated him under Mycroft’s orders…

Or raped and bonded Mycroft when he found out Mycroft was an Omega…

Moriarty could have done anything to him and all he’d done was given him his suppressant pill, gotten him a tranquilizer, and tucked him in with a blanket on the sofa in his office… and left him an invitation to meet him for a jazz concert in 4 days– 3 days now.

And walked out of the building of course.

Mycroft couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that James Moriarty, who was threatening his brother, who Mycroft was having tortured… didn’t take advantage when he found out Mycroft was an Omega.  It didn’t make sense.

He’d always been strange.  Laughing at the interrogators, using sex and sexual innuendo against his captors– it was usually the reverse: they used implied threats of rape to terrorize the prisoners. He’d been making sexual innuendos against Mycroft, licking and sucking on his fingers, his wrist…

Until he’d found out.

Then? He’d started being… surprisingly polite– talked mathematics, and music, and tucked him in with…

It didn’t make sense.

~

Mycroft was enormously relieved when the political mess that had been brewing for weeks finally exploded. He went back to his usual behavior and started analyzing and coordinating and didn’t think about James Moriarty at all.

 After a day his priority email beeped at him and he glanced down in annoyance– it was from Moriarty.  Of course, he’d gotten into my computer: while he might not have been able to plant a Trojan he certainly could get the priority email address.

Mycroft opened the email with the sort of calm one has waiting to hear if it’s a treatable condition, or if you should just write out your will now.

_Dear Mycroft,_

_I’m afraid we’ll have to reschedule our date for tomorrow as I just got hired by your opponents to clean up their ridiculous mess._

_… Of course that IS more our kind of date, isn’t it?_

_James_

Mycroft stared at the email.  Very, very slowly one corner of his mouth quirked up. He sent a reply:

_Dear James,_

_Indeed, I believe it may be. I’m afraid I shall dismantle the operation in any case._

_Sincerely,_

_Mycroft Holmes_

A reply came a few hours later:

_Mycroft,_

_I’m operating at a disadvantage since they already ~~fucked up~~ made so many horrible moves, but…_

_Mate in ten._

_James_

Mycroft read the email– _oh you did NOT… No one beats me at chess, and you are NOT about to steal this operation away._

For the next week Mycroft scarcely slept.  Somewhere half a world away people were dying, people were being shot, politics were tumbling and economies faltering, while Mycroft and his people sat in offices in London and drank too much coffee, smoked too many cigarettes, and made their moves.

Mycroft had to admit that James was brilliantly trying to salvage the situation.  He’d apparently been hired just as the other side had been about to collapse and he STILL managed to drag this out, forcing them to expend resources as their opponents scattered and dodged. Still… at the end of  eight days a critical information resource was on its way to MI6, a defector had been escorted to an Embassy in a neutral country, and the head of a terror cell had been shot.  Mycroft finally permitted himself to get an uninterrupted night’s sleep.

After he woke up, showered, and got a breakfast that didn’t come from a plastic tray or  a minion delivering it to his desk, he gave in to a small temptation. He sent an email:

_Dear James,_

_If you aren’t too upset at me for winning the game, I believe I could reschedule._

_Sincerely Mycroft_

He didn’t get a reply.  It saddened him somewhat; he’d hoped that… ah well.  He didn’t get a reply the next day either. 

He DID hear from his brother Sherlock, who was rather unsubtly fishing for information about what was going on with Moriarty.  All he could do is tell him to stay alert, but that it was unlikely he would be bothering them. He did think about warning his brother that he was facing a fellow Alpha, but that… well as long as Moriarty didn’t tell anyone about him, it seemed a bit rude.

When he looked at his email the next day– waiting for the information resource to be processed into MI6– he saw a reply from James.  _I suppose… I suppose it may simply have taken him a bit to calm down?_ He opened it:

_Dear Mycroft,_

_If YOU aren’t too upset at losing… There’s a Jazz ensemble at the Magpie at 7._

_With fond regards,_

_James._

_P.S. I did say mate in ten._

Mycroft stared at the email– _it was ten days, exactly, since he had said that…–_ and hurriedly called down to MI6. “You have a security breach, the information–”

He heard alarms start to go off on the other end and rapid swearing… he sighed and hung up. He spent the rest of the day watching reports coming in: the information was a Trojan code that ripped through MI6’s servers like a whirlwind, the defector was missing– the only good thing appeared to be that the head of the terror cell had, in fact, been shot.

There really was nothing further to do so he went home at four.

The Magpie was apparently a small pub on the outskirts of London… he could still make it…

He stared at a closet full of suits and picked out something that seemed suitable– with a green tie and pocket square, because yes it was his favorite color– and set off to meet James for a Jazz ensemble.  Mycroft was certain that his security would have conniptions if they had the slightest clue, but none the less he was going to go…

After all, he wouldn’t want to seem like a poor loser.

 

 

 


	2. The Magpie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Jazz, a bit of talk, and fish and chips.  
> i apologize in advance for my punctuation: Migraines are awful things.

Mycroft found his way to the pub: it was on the other side of London from the music hall that they had been going to at first, and this was a pub that had music, not a performance venue.  _Crowded, noise, probably horrible food._   Mycroft felt unsettled again and a part of him wanted to leave and never look back… but he HAD taunted James about being willing to reschedule despite losing… before he found out that James hadn’t lost, he had.

James was leaning up against the wall outside looking indecently good in casual clothing.

“That’s casual for you, then?” James smiled faintly, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

“It was the most informal suit I own; will that be a problem?”

James indicated for him to come with him and walked toward the door, not touching him– about which Mycroft was quite grateful and also a bit disappointed.

“No problem; you would stand out a bit on the weekend, but seeing as it’s a weeknight some folks come out from work, so you’ll see some suits.”

The bouncer discreetly near the door glanced at James and didn’t move.  Inside the pub had old fashioned tables, a bar with what appeared to be a dizzying array of beers on tap, and a small stage. 

The bartender setting bottles out and getting ready for the evening looked very sour at Mycroft. A waiter came over and put down two menus without trying to hand them to either of them, or wait for orders…

“This is your place, isn’t it?” Mycroft took in the decidedly old fashioned but well-appointed ambiance, the reactions everyone had…

“Yes; I was wondering when you’d realize.”  James grinned at him.

“What’s it a cover for?” Mycroft asked curiously.

“It’s not a cover for anything, I don’t do any illicit business here– I mean other than being here and having my phone– I’ve taken a few business calls I suppose.”

“But what’s it FOR?”

James just laughed, “Having someplace to get decent fish and chips?”

Mycroft snorted, “There are plenty of places to get that.”

“No there aren’t,” James almost sang it.

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed, “What about Lido’s?”

James raised an eyebrow over his glasses, “The building was demolished to make way for luxury flats.”

“What?” Mycroft startled, _oh... it had been a while…_ “Well the little place in SoHo–”

James was shaking his head and smiling, “Replaced with a Thai noodle shop– which is excellent but it’s not fish and chips.”

“Forrest’s Fish and Chips,” Mycroft frowned at him

“Admittedly decent, but their quality has gone down lately.”

Mycroft had to admit that was true, sadly, “Geoffrey’s, near Oxford!” he said triumphantly.

James stared at him, “Mycroft, they closed eight YEARS ago.”

 _Impossible!_   He couldn’t picture it, they were a FIXTURE…

James shook his head and waved over the waiter. “Two fish and chip platters, an extra serving of chips, and bring him the better house beer: I’ll have my usual.” He handed the menus back to the man.

“You need to get out more, I did say that.”

“Apparently…” Mycroft was terribly embarrassed to find that places he LIKED had been gone so long and he hadn’t known. “So… normally if I was sitting with someone waiting for a performance I would discuss the wine list, but…”

“We could discuss the beer: forty-seven varieties of small breweries and craft–”

“Ahem, well… yes… I don’t actually know that much about beer.”

“Which I gathered from the glazed look at the ‘on tap’ line up,” James laughed, “which is why I ordered for you. It’s not overly different from wines, there are different notes; various pairings– if you like I can go over it with you.”

“It seems unlikely to come up at most of the functions I attend…”

“Go to more functions in Ireland or Germany,” James chuckled, “Or some places in the Americas.”

Mycroft rather liked hearing him sound so at ease and relaxed.  He found himself almost envious, but of course he WOULD be at ease someplace he controlled.

“Would you tell me how you managed the–” Mycroft started to ask about the defector and the information and James reached out and tapped him on the back of the hand, touching him for the first time since he’d gotten there.  It was just a brief touch by a dry finger on the back of his hand and it left him breathless.

James pulled his sunglasses down and looked at him over the tops of them, and his eyes were positively dancing, “Oh no, no shop talk–besides here comes dinner.”

The smell of the food hit him like a physical blow– perfectly seasoned, hot, and…– “James, if these taste half as good as they smell, I take back any doubts about your intentions.”

James smirked and opened his bottle of beer: Mycroft had a pint glass. Mycroft managed to be entirely distracted by what was very likely the best fish and chips in Great Britain– certainly the best he’d ever had. When a group of musicians began setting up on the stage he looked over to ask James a question and stopped dead.

James had taken off his glasses and was looking off distantly with an expression Mycroft recognized from the cameras in interrogation- a vague thoughtful look, as though his mind was wandering– It made him look much younger, especially now that he was clean-shaven and properly clothed. That wasn’t what froze him so much though, it was the fact that he was idly sipping from his bottle of beer and running it across his lip: an action somehow far more sexually charged than the exaggerated sucking on fingers or lewd commentary he’d employed before.

James’ eyes slid sideways to Mycroft and sharpened. “Problem?”

“No…” Mycroft finally admitted, “You’re usually putting up a barrage of… chaff, I suppose.”

James giggled faintly, a rather incongruous noise. “That’s a good term for it.”

The musicians  started tuning up and Mycroft scanned the room again this time having settled a bit it was more obvious: three men stationed around the pub, the bouncer, and one of the  waitresses were armed guards but weren’t aiming at Mycroft; the bartender– secondary bartender now that another had come on duty– was watching Mycroft with suspicion.  He moved like a trained killer but the way he moved backward instead of forward in defense…

“One of your snipers?” Mycroft asked.

James looked at Mycroft and followed the direction of his gaze, “One of my best.”

“He’s the only one looking at me like that; the others are just on guard.”

James smiled, “He’s the only one who knows who you ARE.” James waved over the waiter, “switch us now.” He said calmly and the waiter nodded and went away.

“I don’t know your codes,” Mycroft frowned.

“It means we’re switching to non-alcoholic drinks, that’s all. As I said this isn’t a cover for anything illicit, and he’s just a good waiter who got in trouble, and is grateful for a job.”

“Gratitude can be a leash,” Mycroft sighed, knowing the leash James held on him.

James didn’t deny it, he just nodded– anything else would have been meaningless.

The music started up and Mycroft found himself torn between listening to the unexpectedly good jazz musicians, and watching James.  James smiled and occasionally closed his eyes, and sometimes his fingers moved in sync with the tempo, especially when they were playing the more complex rhythms and syncopated beats.

The bartender– sniper– clearly wasn’t here for the music, he would watch Mycroft with suspicion and then his eyes would track the room, before returning to Mycroft.

When the ensemble took a break Mycroft commented, “Does he think I’m going to poison you or that the place is going to be raided or…? Incidentally they’re excellent, were they playing at the music venue the other time?”

James answered in reverse, “No, they’re young and unknown which is why they’re playing the Magpie, but yes they are very, very good– I may have arranged for them to have something of an opportunity; in a year or two they could be playing the other venue.” He sipped at a drink that looked like more than it was, “I expect he thinks you’re going to have me tortured again– he doesn’t understand why I’m being nice.”

“That makes two of us.” Mycroft muttered, and then continued, “The webpage said that you have different types of music on different nights?”

“Mmm-Hmm.  Irish and Celtic music is Friday nights, if you like fiddle you should come–” James stopped suddenly, looking at him sideways as he did.

“Yes, Sherlock is a very fine violinist, but I don’t think he plays anything but classical.” Mycroft sighed, “And no, I’m not likely to forget your rather destructive obsession with my brother.”

After a pause James smirked, “He enjoyed it.”

“True,” Mycroft sighed, “But he enjoyed cocaine and heroin too– it’s still destructive.”

“It was just so boooriing,” James finally grumbled, “And you could SEE how much he wanted to cut loose– that doctor is a horrible influence.”

“When Sherlock ‘cuts loose’ as you say he ends up face down in a drug den– overdosing.” Mycroft stared down into a soft drink and wished fervently for something stronger, “I’ve pulled him out of enough of them.”

The ensemble was returning to the stage as James reached out and hesitantly patted at Mycroft’s hand, “Well, I expect it grates on him to have you in authority over him– biology, on top of being the younger brother.”

Mycroft turned and stared at him, “what?”

“He’s an Alpha, Mycroft,” James’ voice was soft and Mycroft had to lean in close to hear him over the instruments warming up. “He’s supposed to take care of you– it’s in his nature– but you’re older–”

The shock that he knew that Sherlock was an Alpha was enough to snap Mycroft’s analytical mind back into full speed: he pulled his hand back stiffly, “If you mean to imply I am less than capable–”

“Oh no! Not at all… I thought you were terribly impressive, if frightfully dull, before,’ Jim looked him straight in the eyes and once again he felt that magnetic pull, “to manage what you do and conceal yourself so? No wonder you’re all buttoned up like that…”

Mycroft felt like it took a physical effort to wrench his gaze away. “Then what do you mean?”

“I mean that his instincts will be to protect you.  If you believe evolutionary genetics theory, you more than any Omega other than his mate… because all his instincts are telling him to protect his bloodline; there are so many threats out there…”

Mycroft felt rather uneasy, “Like you?”

James smiled a bit too widely, “Yes, of course.”

“You could have done a great deal of harm,” Mycroft admitted stiffly, “I still don’t understand–”

James turned back to the jazz ensemble: Mycroft sighed and went back to listening.

When the ensemble was done for the night James turned to him and glanced at him in a teasing fashion over his drink, “So DO you like fiddle? Because it’s going to be Celtic dance music on Friday.”

“I have no idea, I think I’ve only ever heard a few tunes, and I don’t know anything but ballroom.”

He knew as soon as he said it that it was a mistake, from the way James’ smile broadened. “Reeeeeaaally? Which would you prefer: learning to dance to something lively? Or going out to something more traditional?”

“I doubt very much I’ll have time.”

“Oh, of course you will: it will be all paperwork for the rest of the week, and nothing much is on the horizon for THIS weekend.”

Mycroft meant to make his excuses, come up with some obligation, something… instead he found himself weakly saying, “This was lovely but I would feel more comfortable with something more familiar.”

And of course James pounced on that. “Ballroom it is, then.”

Mycroft blinked at him, “In case it has escaped your attention, we’re both ostensibly Male, and I cannot afford to be outed–”

James waved a hand idly, “Heavens no, I haven’t even told my pet sniper what you are, just who…” something eased in Mycroft’s chest although he couldn’t have told you why he believed him. “ I happen to know a lovely gay ballroom venue.”

Mycroft pinched his nose as he felt the beginnings of a Sherlock level headache, “You would…”

“I’ll pick you up at 6 then on Saturday.”

“I assume you already have my address,” Mycroft sighed.

“Naturally.” James smiled and leaned in... and at the last moment stopped and picked up Mycroft’s hand instead, “Do make sure it’s clothing you can dance in, Mycroft: wardrobe malfunctions are only funny when they happen to someone else.” James turned his hand over and kissed his palm– it felt like a brand.

Mycroft found himself in a taxi heading home– and yes James had given the driver the address, damn it– wondering just WHY he’d agreed to meet James Moriarty, ALPHA James Moriarty, to go dancing of all things.

 


	3. Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft needs advice, and there's only one person he can talk to.

Indeed the rest of the week was going to be paperwork.  The entire situation was made somewhat worse by not knowing how Moriarty– James– managed it.  There were several ways the thumb drive could have been replaced, but for the life of him he had no idea how you kidnapped a defector out of a heavily guarded embassy without a trace.

Sigh.

Sadly, Mycroft had to admit the problem couldn’t keep his full attention– he kept worrying over Moriarty’s behavior and his own, trying to make sense of it.  Eventually Mycroft determined there was only one possible person he could talk to: he called Sherlock.

“Whatever it is the answer is no.” Sherlock said as soon as he picked up.

“It’s not a job; this is personal.”

“All the MORE reason to say no.” Sherlock answered suspiciously.

Mycroft sighed and brought to mind the fastest ways to get Sherlock to do what… he… wanted… _He’s an Alpha and I’m controlling him: James was right, it must grate._

“What’s going on?” Sherlock was starting to sound vaguely alarmed; Mycroft realized he’d been quiet for a while.

“I need to talk to an Alpha and you’re the only one I trust.” Mycroft found himself practically whispering.

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to be quiet for too long– for once Mycroft had no idea what he might be thinking.

“I’ll be at your house for tea.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft felt like he could breathe again.  Sherlock hung up.

…

Sherlock stalked into his house with suspicion etched on his features. “If this is actually just a ruse to get me–”

“No.” Mycroft  sighed “I’m afraid I’m rather at a loss.”

Sherlock stood there with his mouth open for a second and then closed it and started hanging up his coat and things– eventually they sat down at the table and Mycroft poured. He found himself fidgeting and uncertain of how to discuss it.

“Mycroft, are you hurt?” Sherlock asked hesitantly.

“No, but I could easily have been.”

“What happened?”

“My suppressants failed.”

Sherlock hissed with an indrawn breath and lunged forward to pull at Mycroft’s shirt collar. Mycroft batted his hands away ineffectually, “Stop that.”

“Show me!” Sherlock’s command voice was stronger than Mycroft ever remembered hearing it before and he undid his tie and collar without protest.

Sherlock looked him over in a relieved fashion and then frowned. “What happened?”

“The Alpha became aware that I was an Omega, became excruciatingly polite, stopped touching me at all, and got me one of my suppressant pills.” Mycroft admitted. “He scolded me for not having an injector of Heat–”

Sherlock exploded, “What do you mean you don’t have instant Heat suppressant!”

“He was rather calmer about it.” Mycroft grumbled.

“So he’s Bonded already.”

Mycroft thought about it again and… _no_. “No, I really don’t think so.” He looked down at his tea, “I would have put it down to my being so undesirable as an Omega, but that doesn’t fit either– I’m intensely valuable as an information resource.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, “So it’s someone who knows the kinds of things you have access to?”

“Yes.”

“You’re right, that makes no sense.” Sherlock sat back and steepled his fingers, “What did he do after he got you your pills and scolded you about the injector?”

“Made certain I was comfortable and fairly secure and left,” Mycroft sighed, “and left me a note inviting me to a music performance.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. “You’re not joking?”

“No… I… it was a very pleasant evening.”

Sherlock stared at him as though he wasn’t certain if he heard that. “You… went… out?!”

“Yes? It was a weeknight and while a bit unpleasantly crowded the music was excellent and I must confess the food was–”

“He… invited you to dinner?!” Sherlock actually drew a hand across his eyes and stared at him again.

“Fish and chips…” Mycroft muttered, “Possibly the best I’ve had. We were talking about how difficult it is to get decent fish and chips these days.”

Sherlock blinked a lot and drank his tea quietly, after he silently held out his cup for more he cleared his throat. “Most Alphas are ridiculously stupid.”

Mycroft found himself instantly defensive, “He’s certainly not that!”

Sherlock closed his eyes and opened them again. “Excruciatingly polite? So I don’t have to rip his throat out?”

“Why would you have to rip his throat out?” Mycroft was bewildered by the non-sequitur.

“He’s courting you, Mycroft.”

“Ridiculous! I’m completely the opposite of desirable in an Omega!”

“You went out to dinner and music? He likes music?”

“Apparently.” Mycroft sighed, “He’s not courting me, Sherlock... he probably just wants something  more subtle–”

“Certainly possible, but you were alone with him when your suppressants failed– enough that he had to get you your pills and ensure your safety?”

“Yes.”

“COULD he have bonded you?” Sherlock glared at him.

Mycroft glared at the tea, “Yes: without question.”

“Then he’s courting you.” Sherlock sat back, “and you’re damned lucky, because he could have forced the issue.”

“Why? Why would he?”

“I suppose you could have found a masochistic Alpha with a taste for hyper-intelligent controlling Omegas– or Omega since I doubt there is more than one of you.”

“He’s… hard to read.”

“Obviously or you wouldn’t be asking my advice, although I suspect it’s  not so much that he’s difficult as that you don’t want to see what you’re seeing.”

“I suppose that’s… possible.”

“Besides if you throttle your napkin any more I’ll have to call in forensics.” Sherlock said waving at his lap, where he’d been wringing the napkin unconsciously.

“Err… yes.”

“So you met him out– out–” Sherlock said that as though he didn’t believe it, and Mycroft couldn’t blame him, “and you had dinner and listened to music: he continued to be polite?”

“Yeesss…?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, “What happened?”

“I may have agreed to meet him to go dancing.” Mycroft muttered.

When he glanced up Sherlock was staring at him as though Mycroft had lost his mind. “What?” Mycroft snapped.

“He found out you were an Omega, and he knows what kind of things you deal with; he invited you out and tolerated you  for an entire evening in public; and then he invited you to go dancing.  If it weren’t for the fact that he doesn’t seem to know your tastes at all, I’d be wondering when I was going to be introduced and how long I have to arrange the Bonding ceremony!”

Mycroft stared at him and then suddenly saw it from an outside perspective…

“He has a degree in Mathematics…” Mycroft whispered.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “Unusual for an Alpha, but it would give you something to talk about.”

“We… did.  Talk about math…” Mycroft cleared his throat, “he wanted to know my favorite theorem and he knew what I was talking about– he’s read Mummy’s papers…”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “And he took you out to dinner, and invited you out dancing?”

“Errr… yes?”

“And for the first time in decades you’re acting uncertain.” Sherlock snorted, “Because you’re attracted to him too.”

Mycroft sagged back into the chair. “Yes.”

“Does he know you have an Alpha relative?”

“He knows about you, yes.  He…”

“He what?” Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him again.

“He said it was no wonder I was so buttoned up– being an Omega in my type of job.” Mycroft tried to  turn the subject and failed.

“What did he say about me? That I’m a freak? Useless?”

“NO! oh for …” Mycroft frowned, “He was looking sympathetic and said it must grate on you as an Alpha to be the younger sibling with me being so controlling.”

Sherlock sat back with a loud exhale as though he’d been punched.

“Well…” Sherlock said finally, “he’s not wrong.” He threw back the rest of his tea rather quickly. “When do I get to meet him? and you haven’t mentioned his name.”

“I don’t… I don’t think it would be a good idea to have the two of you in the same room, somehow.” Mycroft smiled wryly– that was an understatement.

“Dancing?”

“Ballroom. I expressed a preference for that over the rather louder and less controlled options– besides I know how.”

“Gay club?”

“Apparently.”

“Probably ‘Compression’,” Sherlock said thoughtfully, “If he’s being polite.”

“I actually have no idea.”

“Then how are you meet–” Sherlock slapped a hand over his face and dragged it down. “And you complain about me? You’re letting him pick you up, you don’t even know where you’re GOING, and of course you haven’t arranged for security… Have you gone insane?!”

“I had begun to wonder.” Mycroft winced.

“I’ll follow you.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Then suggest a SANE alternative to you going off alone with an Alpha to someplace unknown without security!  Even if he wasn’t a problem that’s far too risky!”

“I could take a simple tracker and have you and John on call?”

“I wouldn’t normally even think of doing this to you, but you deserve it– you’re acting like an idiot,” And Sherlock suddenly lunged forward and caught him by the neck.

Mycroft’s eyes widened and before he could use any of the combat maneuvers he had trained in Sherlock closed his grip on Mycroft’s neck and growled at him: Mycroft suddenly felt all the strength leave his body and he went limp– he might have whimpered.

Sherlock gently put him down in the chair. “That never would have worked before, Mycroft.” He said very gently. “You’ve met someone that seems compatible and your body is rebelling against that iron control: it’s not safe.”

Mycroft pulled himself together.  That demonstration had shaken him in ways the discussion never had. “What should I do?”

Sherlock sighed and looked down, “I’m hardly used to running YOUR life, Mycroft.”

“Apparently I’m becoming less capable of it.”

“Either cut it off immediately, and never see him again–” Mycroft gasped and almost whined, “which I can see isn’t going to happen, or tell me whenever you are going to meet him, take trackers and a panic button, and leave instructions for your office in the event of a disaster.”  Sherlock looked pained, “And carry the damned injector.”

“Alright.” Sherlock had exerted dominance over him– Sherlock who was technically his Alpha until he Bonded– but who had never been able to do that before.

“Mycroft…” Sherlock sighed and trailed off.

“It won’t work.” Mycroft admitted. “It can’t.  Even… even if he was interested in me for some reason other than my access, he’d never pass the security clearance and if they knew I was an Omega…”

Sherlock sighed again, “The ones who know you’re an Omega are reassured by your complete lack of sexuality and submissiveness, but would be alarmed if you ever Bonded or even showed an interest: Everyone else would simply go into shock over your being an Omega at all.” Sherlock looked up thoughtfully, “and if he won’t pass the highest levels of clearance, they’ll kill him– and possibly you.”

“I know.” Mycroft sighed, “I can think of a handful of ways to work around it, but the risk is insane, and if it worked it would give him access to the highest levels of  intelligence…”

Sherlock looked alarmed, “The fact that you are even considering this after this little time–”

“I consider everything; I always have.”

“Does he really understand how controlling you are, what you’re involved in? That isn’t going to stop overnight– possibly at all– even if you found an Alpha.”

“He knows I’m involved in interrogations and political intelligence, yes.”

Sherlock shook his head. “You aren’t thinking clearly.  If this dance date goes well I have to INSIST on meeting him.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him

“Then it will be a moot point since I will have killed him.” Sherlock said calmly and with an authority that rocked Mycroft back in shock.

“You… ah…” Mycroft blinked a lot trying to figure out a way to say “you seem more like an Alpha”.

Sherlock just snorted at him, “I’ve never had to protect a family Omega before, have I?”

Mycroft almost smiled, “Well… no.”

Sherlock got up. “I have things to do... Get the trackers and equipment to me and John and I will keep an eye on you remotely.”

“Thank you, Sherlock.”

“That’s twice you’ve said ‘Thank You’, brother mine, you may want to double up on your pills.”

“My being an Omega has nothing to do with it, Sherlock.” Mycroft snorted at him.

“No, but your being unsettled does, and part of that’s hormones.” Sherlock stopped and looked at him for a long time. “I hope this works out well; you seem happier.”

“I hadn’t known I seemed unhappy?”

“Yes.” Sherlock nodded and turned to go out, “Oh, you never mentioned his name?”

“James.” And Mycroft could feel the smile at the edges of his mouth, and knew Sherlock could hear it.

Sherlock just nodded and went out.

Mycroft went back to his home office and started looking up the dance venue Sherlock had mentioned– it seemed respectable enough– and the security in the neighborhood– horrible, with too many potential lines of sight for snipers. He thought about the ‘bartender’ who was one of Moriarty’s best snipers and realized they likely were going to that club…. And the snipers would belong to James.

He winced when he realized it made him feel safe.

 

 


	4. Masks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That serpent of old"... temptation and tangos

Mycroft made changes, took precautions, and set things in motion.  By Friday he had changed the course of international politics for his own interests and he felt rather dirty, but Sherlock was right– he hadn’t been thinking.

A car pulled up outside his house right on schedule and Mycroft’s hand brushed the panic alarm to check its position as he stepped out.  He didn’t have a weapon besides his umbrella, but something told him he couldn’t have managed to shoot James Moriarty in any case.  He desperately wanted his suspicious mind to be proven wrong, just once; desperately hoped this wasn’t an elaborate ploy to get him alone, away from help, trusting…

Mycroft got into the car and looked over at James and a small pleased sound escaped him: the man was a dream in formalwear.  He’d seen him in a suit, of course, on camera, but there he was in slim black shoes, and GOD he had green cufflinks on his French cuffs and green was winking at him from the line of closures down his shirt…

James ran a hand down his own buttons and smiled, “You look utterly edible, Mycroft.”

Mycroft flushed and almost missed his timing… “James, could you ask your driver to pull over in the next block for a moment.” And he held his breath and wondered if he would be told no, or argued with…

But James merely tapped the intercom and told the man to pull over.

Mycroft allowed himself to breathe just a fraction more, “I’m afraid for security I had to make some adjustments…” he nodded at a car parked to the side with dark windows and a government plate. “We need to change cars.” He looked at James and tried not to sound uncertain, “and I need to drive.”

James simply looked blank for a moment and got out of the car, coming around to open Mycroft’s door, “I didn’t know you drove, Mycroft, you always have a driver.”

“I took extensive lessons, in the event that my driver was taken out.” Mycroft bit his lip thoughtfully, “There’s a box on the floor in the back seat; can you get it and bring it up front?”

James looked curious, and if Mycroft was honest a bit suspicious, but he did, and as soon as they were both settled in the car he pulled away.

“I left a tracker in the back seat of your car, James… If you could ask your driver to take a slow tour of the city?”

James suddenly smiled, “Of course.” He phoned his man and told him to drive on a ‘romantic London’ tour and hung up. “Should I warn my people that we aren’t showing up?” He sounded curious, but not upset.

“Indeed, and I am afraid my brother likely will be– showing up.”

James laughed, “Well you are dressed to go dancing… seems a shame.” Mycroft felt James’ eyes trail over him appreciatively, even while he was keeping his eyes on the road. “You look somehow less stuffy in formalwear; I don’t know how you manage that, it’s usually the reverse.”

“I suspect it’s simply that people have become accustomed to a vest being part of formalwear so it looks less out of place.”

“Could be.” He picked up his phone and dialed– Mycroft heard a soft query and James just said, “Ghost,” and hung up. “He’ll be furious; he hates not knowing where I am.”

“I thought we could, in fact, go dancing… just… not there.” Mycroft cleared his throat, “I convinced someone to change their party to a formal masque… in exchange for agreeing to attend.”

“Oh?” James was looking more intrigued. “Wouldn’t you normally go?”

Mycroft shuddered, “All those people? And half of them angling for political information and the rest chattering mindlessly? No. I only go to those things when I have to: it’s far too tiring.”

“I would think political chatter and angling for information would be your home court.”

“I hardly need to subject myself to it– I usually work from my office or my club…”

James tsked, “You REALLY need to go out more.”

“Yes… well… I took the liberty of procuring masks for us both.  It has the added advantage of you not being recognized.”

James opened the box and pulled out the first mask which Mycroft knew had horns and angled eyeholes. “I’m the devil?”

Mycroft chuckled, “No… that’s my mask, although we are related.”

James put the mask down on the seat and pulled out the other one, Mycroft heard a soft gasp, “Oh… you flatterer.”

He didn’t dare look as he heard James put it on. He tried not to picture it…

…

Mycroft handed over his invitation.  He was known, expected, eagerly sought after, and no one cared who he brought as his plus one: he put his mask on and handed the car off to the valet. James came up and slipped his arm through his and Mycroft turned to say something…

Rather hoarsely he managed to get out, “I knew it would suit you.”

James’ mask was leaves and bark, with an emerald serpent twining around it.  It went with the emerald accents on his clothing as though he’d planned it.

“You should be Eve, not a devil…” James’ voice edged close to the seduction of his first days in the cell, but somehow Mycroft didn’t mind.

“I lost any innocence a long time ago.”

“No… I don’t think so; you just hide it behind all that paperwork.” James smirked, “Shall we?”

Food first –and there were so many people and they were too close, but James’ hand on his arm, or his back, kept him steady. Somehow the mindless drivel was tolerable with James making quiet sarcastic comments, and sometimes he was quiet but Mycroft almost HEARD what he was thinking–once they both started laughing at the same moment for no reason and had to take sips of their drinks to cover it.

Eventually the music began and some people started to dance.

“I do have the issue that I was only properly taught to lead…” Mycroft said hesitantly.

“I could teach you, but for the first few why don’t you just lead? You’re taller anyway.”

“You don’t mind?”

“No… although I may insist if they play a tango…”

Mycroft actually stumbled slightly at the idea of a tango… but shortly they were waltzing and yes, Jim was as graceful and as responsive a partner as any diplomat’s daughter or princess he’d ever had to squire around the dance floor.

“I didn’t expect you to dance so well– especially following.”

James smiled under his mask, “I had no idea YOU danced so well!”

“Our mother insisted, and I often had to escort young ladies about– Sherlock ducked out of it usually.”

James laughed, “I cannot imagine him being politic and debonair.”

Mycroft started laughing so hard he had to stop to catch his breath.

James led him out to the patio garden, “Do you tango?”

“I know the basics…”

“Let me lead…” James started humming and moving him carefully with a hand on his hip and one on his wrist.  It was remarkably easy to follow him… he let himself be read– and it was an allowance, because he could be unreadable when he wanted to be– which made responding seamless. He was also quite simply an excellent instructor.

“You missed your calling, James, you should have taught dance.”

“I did.”

“What?”

“I did… among other things.  I’ve taught dance, I’ve been an actor– I tried to be a cook and that was a disaster, but I know how– I’ve done a lot of things.”

“Well I–” Two men who had been watching them unhappily were joined by three other men, one of whom Mycroft recognized. “Ah… trouble. I suppose we had best repair back to the main party.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, I think the first two were simple homophobes, but that last fellow is Alistair.”

“Yes, he’s well connected with several embassies and suspected of working for a number of problematic groups.” Mycroft frowned, as they were focusing more and more on the two of them– James appeared to be ignoring them.

“Alistair? Oh Gods yes, sells information to anyone and everyone but he’s in the back pocket of the Russians.”

“They… do seem to be inclined to cause trouble,”

James curled his arm behind Mycroft’s back and effortlessly bent him to the ground– it was a casual display of strength and grace that left Mycroft breathless–“want me to get rid of them, darling?”

“I’d like to avoid murdering anyone at a political event…” Mycroft managed to answer.

“Really?” James smirked and swung him back into the tango, “but it’s TRADITIONAL….”

Mycroft tried not to, he really did, but he ended up laughing. “Yes, but I’d end up having to do the clean-up.”

“Oh alright…” James actually pouted.  Mycroft started laughing again. James never lost the rhythm of the steps. “{DO you have some business with me, Mika? Or were you expecting to cut in?”} James said in a louder voice, in Russian– one of the men standing next to Alistair startled badly.

“{Y-You were not expected?}”  The man– Mika– startled and stepped backwards. Two of the other men immediately followed his lead: Alistair looked confused.  Mycroft managed to get a proper look at ‘Mika’ as Jim swept them to a conclusion– _Russian mob, ties to intelligence, definitely did business with Moriarty._

“{I’m never expected.}” James slid his hand from Mycroft’s waist to his back, and turned to lead him out of the area.  Mika stepped backwards again.

Unfortunately Alistair didn’t take hints well. “It’s an insult to your hosts that you couldn’t even bother to bring a proper escort!”

Mycroft should have ignored it, really he should, but he was so DAMNABLY tired of people telling him to fit into their expectations. He took off his mask and fixed Alistair with his most withering glare. “Alistair, I’m sure the ambassador is thrilled no matter who I attend with, after all he’s been trying to get me to attend for months at least– I might even be welcome if I brought YOU, but as it is I brought someone with connections and manners– good day.” And he let James lead him out as he put his mask back on.

“Bravo darling!” James exclaimed cheerfully, “I did tell you that you needed to get out more…”

“I despise putting up with people like that!” Mycroft grumbled, and it was only the steady hand on his back that kept him from stalking off for a cigarette.

“Want me to have him killed?” James asked in a considerate tone.

Mycroft snorted, “If I wanted him killed I could have him killed. He’s annoying but regrettably useful.”

“Ah, yes, the thing that keeps so many people breathing– he’s useful.” James chuckled. “Caviar?”

“Oh!” Mycroft perked up, “Do they have the GOOD caviar?”

“They had a shipment delivered a day ago, so if they don’t I wouldn’t know why.”

Mycroft blinked at him, “How would you know that?”

“Back market caviar? Do you have any idea what the profit margin is on that?!”

“So you’re saying I should have been asking YOU why my normal suppliers can’t get quality caviar?”

“Mycroft!” James put on a mock offended tone, “All you had to do is ask…”

They liberated a truly decadent amount of caviar from a passing server, and James got them champagne.

After several more dances Mycroft reluctantly admitted he needed to go.

“I should as well, really,” James sighed, “No rest for the wicked.”

After sweeping the car for bugs, James arranged for his driver to meet him halfway back to Mycroft’s house.

“I suppose you’d like the mask back?”

“Keep it, it suits you.”

“Why thank you, Mycroft.” James smiled, “and despite the change in venue I had a lovely evening.”

“I did too…” Mycroft sighed, “We need to talk, seriously.”

“I suppose we do.”

“But not tonight.”

“No.”

Mycroft watched him get into his car, and come back to hand him the tracker, “Here you go… apparently they either realized it was a trick, or lost interest.”

“Thank you, I expect I will get an earful tomorrow.” _Or more likely tonight._

And he watched the car until it went out of sight, and then he drove home. Everything looked perfectly intact…

“Hello, Sherlock, I trust you ate?” Mycroft said calmly as he came in.

“Mycroft I’m accustomed to you ignoring me, but you usually have SOME concept of security!” Sherlock was standing glaring at him while John Watson was fidgeting in an ill at ease fashion.

“Doctor Watson.” Mycroft nodded, “Can this wait until I change, Sherlock?”

Sherlock stared at him, “You went to an EMBASSY party?”

“You did suggest not going someplace remote, or insecure, so I arranged for a masked ball at an embassy.”

Sherlock was snarling and grumbling but Doctor Watson spoke up, “Well, much as I disliked chasing a car all over London for no good reason, I hope you had a good time?”

Mycroft smiled, “We had a lovely time, thank you for asking.”

“When do I meet this…”

Mycroft could see Sherlock struggling for a word, and John cut in smoothly, “PERSON, Sherlock, this PERSON that is dating your brother.” John frowned, “your OLDER brother.”

_Ah… he didn’t know…_

Sherlock snorted, “My older brother who is acting worse than he accuses me of!”

“Sherlock…” Mycroft sighed, “You still haven’t told John that you’re an Alpha?”

“Obviously not! The ridiculous assumptions of violence–”

“Wait… you’re an Alpha?!” John yelped. He began to look outraged and shocked– _oh dear_ – “You never told me you son-of-a-bitch!”

“The concept that an Alpha is a raging brute unable to control his hormones is a fallacy–”

“Never MIND that! You’re an Alpha? You could pick me up with one arm then?!”

“Well… yes…”

And you let me carry all the bags back from Tescos?!”

Mycroft muffled his laughter and went upstairs to change while they were arguing.


	5. Office Gossip

Mycroft came back downstairs in casual wear.  John Watson was glaring at Sherlock over their tea and biscuits… Sherlock at least looked a bit guilty.

“My apologies again for dragging you about to no good reason, but I REALLY didn’t think this was a good time for James and Sherlock to meet.”

“You DID take security precautions this time?” Sherlock grumbled.

Mycroft got himself a biscuit and thanked John for the tea, “Yes, I did. Sherlock, I am going to say this once, so I advise you to listen carefully– I don’t expect to repeat it.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him– John looked like he expected a row.

“You were completely right, I was ignoring basic security and acting like a hormone addled teenager, and I appreciate your advice.” Mycroft managed to get it out without growling too much.

Sherlock’s mouth dropped open and it took him a while to close it. “Well… err… you’re welcome…” he sipped his tea trying to cover up the shock.

John covered up HIS shock a bit more easily. “So… who’s this mystery Omega– Oh! I’m sorry I assumed… Beta or Omega?”

“Ah… no, Doctor Watson,” Mycroft sighed, “Sherlock is the Alpha in the family: I’m an Omega– my date, James, is an Alpha, hence Sherlock’s concerns.”

John looked startled and then hesitantly laughed, “Oh, that’s funny…” he looked back and forth, “It…IS...funny?” he closed his eyes and re-opened them. “YOU, mister kidnaps-people-in-dark-cars, are an Omega? Seriously?!”

“It hardly requires being an Alpha to send someone to pick you up in a car, John,” Sherlock sighed. “Yes, Mycroft is an Omega.”

John stared at his tea and muttered, Mycroft nodded solemnly and said, “Excellent idea, the bar is in the other room.”

They regrouped in the study and John had something a bit stronger than tea splashed into his tea– Mycroft offered Sherlock a glass of Port, but he declined.

“I’ve had far too much Champagne to drink any more at this point.” Mycroft said with a reluctant sigh.

“So how much ELSE haven’t I been told?” John sat back with a sigh.

“In short?” Mycroft looked thoughtful, “The current situation– which I assume you mean– allowing for some security issues I cannot inform you of is that I was dealing with a rather delicate matter, in private, with James.   I did not know James to be an Alpha, in the same way that he did not know me to be an Omega. We were having a surprisingly good conversation, when it became apparent that my suppressants had failed or were failing. The situation could have been an utter disaster… except that James very kindly got me my pills, lectured me on the importance of having instant Heat suppressant on hand, made certain of my security, and removed himself before he was exposed to any more pheromones.”

“Well… good…” John said in a puzzled tone.

“Bloody miracle,” muttered Sherlock. “His willpower must be phenomenal.”

“He invited me to a musical performance– work forced me to reschedule– and we ended up going to dinner with music instead at a later time.” Mycroft sighed, “As Sherlock has noted I rarely go out.  James has expressed dismay at how little I go out– one of our dinner discussions involved me finding out that many of my favorite places to get Fish and Chips have been closed for YEARS and I didn’t know.”

“Well… uh... other than the shock of you being an Omega I don’t see the problem?”

“We went dancing tonight.  I had spoken with Sherlock who emphatically pointed out that I was being foolish and not taking good security precautions.  I have corrected that.”

“Ducking me is correcting that?” Sherlock frowned.

“Going to a tightly secured embassy where I was the desired guest, as opposed to a public ballroom dance venue with far too many sniper possibilities, was.” Mycroft nodded. “It was also a test as to whether James would let me out of his car, and let me drive HIM to someplace unexpected– he did.”

Sherlock nodded slowly. “It went well,” he observed.

“Extremely.” Mycroft sighed and put his head down.

“Uh… again? The problem is?” John asked.

“As I believe you understand my position makes me a target.  Put frankly: I would be worth a fortune as a Beta for the information I hold– as an Omega…” Mycroft’s frown deepened, “I’m… controllable.”

“You think he’s after you for your position?”

“Possibly.” Sherlock  nodded.

“Possibly not.” Mycroft sighed. “He could have Bonded me that first night. He certainly could have taken action when I rather foolishly met him for dinner and music without backup. He has been entirely the gentleman.”

“You said he wouldn’t pass a security check.” Sherlock said firmly.

“He wouldn’t.  That doesn’t mean he intends any harm– any more than passing one means he doesn’t– it simply means… we would both be at risk if anyone got wind of it.”

Mycroft opened the box he’d brought in. “I should have gone as Eve…” he said studying the mask, “But people would have talked.”

“The Devil?” Sherlock snorted. “Trite.  Why Eve?”

“I had his mask done as a serpent.”

John, surprisingly, got it immediately: “he’s the tempter.”

“He looked good in it.” Mycroft smiled faintly, “He apparently used to teach ballroom dancing: he is an extraordinary dance partner, and a good teacher– he was teaching me to tango.”

“I thought you despised Tango?” Sherlock’s frown deepened, “You only took the basics and never liked it.”

“I’ve developed a fondness for it with the right partner.”

Sherlock groaned. “I INSIST on meeting him.”

“I need to talk to him about the… realities of our relationship, and the security issues.” Mycroft sighed. “After he’s had a chance to gracefully bow out– if he’s still here– then no matter how badly I think it will go; yes you two would have to meet.”

Sherlock nodded firmly and started getting his things together. 

John turned to follow him and then looked thoughtfully back at Mycroft. “You seem… happier.”

“So Sherlock said.”

“You aren’t glowering as much,” John shrugged. “Frankly I hope it works out for you.”

Mycroft blinked at him a few times– _unexpected_ – “thank you.”

“Some advice?”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him

“When you have that chat about security? Don’t have him kidnapped and taken to a warehouse– it’s not very reassuring.” A corner of John’s mouth quirked up at him and then he left.

Mycroft marveled yet again that John hadn’t run screaming from one or both of them.

*

He sent an email the next morning to James:

_Dear James,_

_We need to have that serious talk. The Magpie if it’s secure enough, otherwise?_

_Mycroft_

He received an answer within a few minutes:

_Mycroft,_

_The Magpie is somewhat secure but as I said, not intended for business and thus may not be secure enough. I’m willing to let you choose the location. I trust you understand I dislike your office– although the tea was nice._

_James_

Mycroft actually snorted at that.

_James,_

_Since you already know my address, why not meet at my house.  I do hope you understand it is a matter of convenience and security, not anything further as yet.  When would you be available?_

_Mycroft_

He got a reply with a selection of dates and times within a very few minutes, and they agreed to meet on Tuesday after office hours.

*

Naturally Monday was horrible.

A number of people commented on how he looked “more rested” or something about his being in a “better mood”.  After lunch he called in his assistant Jane and turned on the anti-eavesdropping baffles.

“Yarrow, today is it?”

“Zinnia, sir,” she raised an eyebrow at him, “Unlike you to forget the day.”

“Ah, yes of course, indeed it is.” He sighed, “How obvious is it?”

“Even without the slip just then? You’ve been distracted, worried about something– not your brother for a change–and you went to the embassy party with a male escort who no one seems to know.” she nodded faintly, “There are bets.”

Mycroft groaned. “Current pool leaders?”

“I believe the best odds are that you were getting a spy contact in by an unorthodox means.”

“Well that’s something.” He sighed, “And my better people?”

“Are divided between: ‘you finally found a guy’, ‘he was a girl and just very butch’, and ‘you’re being blackmailed’.”

Mycroft muttered darkly to himself in German. “Well, speaking of blackmail: the new pet blackmailer is scheduled for a meeting this afternoon, so try to keep the more vulnerable people away from him?”

“Of course, sir, but his meeting IS with you– should I cancel?”

“Very funny.”

“No, sir, it isn’t.” she looked at him with that bland professional face, “I do not think you are being blackmailed, but I also know your business well enough to doubt that you were sneaking a spy in… which makes it likely that you HAVE met someone. That’s a vulnerability.”

“You always were my best analyst.” Mycroft sighed and sat back.

“The fact that you haven’t told me ANYTHING about this makes me concerned.”

“I didn’t want this getting out until I’d had a chance to warn him about the… level… of security issues he would be walking into.”

She nodded slowly. “Is that why your brother was chasing about London while you were at an embassy party?”

“Yes.  Can you imagine introducing a date to Sherlock first thing?”

A corner of her lip curled up, “No, sir, not really.” She paused, “not ever, actually.”

“Exactly.” He nodded, “Can you refrain from passing on confirmation of my ‘relationship’ until I verify that I have one?”

“Of course you know that I’m not passing on information about you to anyone,” she smirked lightly.

“Yes, of course,” he waved at her, “Give the poor man a chance to run for it or not before we drag him into the snake pit?”

She nodded and turned for the door but then she stopped. “Sir? You are taking security precautions, I trust?”

“My brother, believe it or not, already scolded me extensively– ironic coming from him– yes, I’m carrying a panic alarm and several tracers.”

“Good.” She nodded, “I do have to report some things, but… I can delay a few days: I hope it works out for you.”

He was touched, even if he wasn’t certain he believed it. “Thank you, Jane, that’s very considerate of you.”

He ate a very light lunch; Magnussen always made his stomach turn.

 


	6. Caviar

The meeting with Magnussen went about as well–or poorly–as his FIRST meeting with the man: that is to say, he was unable to stomach dinner Monday night and was still feeling queasy Tuesday morning. The man was vile, and as soon as his patrons and clients in the government realized it Mycroft would be delighted to have him quietly poisoned.

Naturally, he’d made veiled threats about Sherlock, and hints about “knowing things”. _Gah_!

He came home early Tuesday, fully intending to relax a bit before trying to deal with James…

“You’re early, Mycroft–problem?” James looked up from where he was sitting in his living room reading one of Mycroft’s books.

“How did you…?” Mycroft looked back over his shoulder at the door. No one should be able to just get into his house–least of all a known terrorist and murderer, even an expected one.

“Not that I actually think you intend a problem, but it’s extraordinarily bad that you could get in to my house.” Mycroft kept his tone as level as possible.

“Yes, really, it is.” James carefully put the book down and stood up. “I’d tell you to invest in better security, but it wouldn’t make a difference to me–I’m rather like your brother that way: the best way to keep me out is an open door invitation to a boring location.” He cocked his head with that damnably infectious grin. “You came in upset, and now you’re more upset–do we need to reschedule?”

Mycroft forced himself to take several deep breaths, “No… I suppose I had just anticipated some time to leave work behind me and… re-settle myself.” He looked back at the door. “And not worry about my security.”

“It’s not like any ordinary threat can get in,” he said very reasonably, “and I hadn’t intended to distress you: I simply thought arriving early made it easier to avoid cameras.”

“Tea?” Mycroft asked finally recollecting his manners.

“Would be lovely. I didn’t feel comfortable rooting about in your kitchen, just your bookshelf.”

“Please sit down; I’ll be back in a moment.”

He took a bit of time making tea and getting himself settled–and no, nothing appeared out of place–before coming out with the tea set and some light sandwiches.

“No wonder you’re so thin: you live on coffee and tea at work, and this is your dinner?”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, “I’m not that thin, and normally I eat more, but my stomach has been bothering me because of work. You did notice me eating at the party.”

James frowned slightly, “Wait… That’s one of those things I’ve been told not to do… Hold on…” He held up a finger and frowned some more. “Oh yes, never comment on people’s eating habits or weight unless they ask you to or you have that kind of relationship.” He nodded slowly. Then he looked up, “I apologize, I don’t mean any harm by it. I’ve been told it’s a byproduct of my own food fixations.”

Mycroft was a bit stunned. “Errr… I hadn’t noticed you had any food fixations?”

“Oh heavens, yes,” he said cheerfully, biting into the sandwich. “This is good, by the way; comes of growing up hungry, I suppose.”

“I… had no idea.”

“Good,” he said pleasantly. “Since your brother always comments on your weight, I rather expect it’s a sore spot with you–I don’t see it myself–but family…” He shrugged, “They could tell you the sky is blue and it would get under your skin.”

“A lot of things ‘get under my skin’, as you put it.” He smiled faintly, “My brother has simply raised it to an art form.”

James flashed that manic, razor-edged grin and went back to his tea.

After they finished, Mycroft took the tea set away and cleared the dishes–James offered to help, but he declined and took the time to put things to soak.

He came back to find a box on the table, politely beribboned.

Mycroft couldn’t help but smile, “It looks like I’m supposed to pull the ribbon and have it explode.”

“Don’t be silly, Mycroft,” James said with a smirk and a mocking tone that was really surprisingly charming once you got used to it. “Bombs are for what, the first anniversary? Or was it the second…?”

Mycroft laughed, “Oh dear, whatever are knives?”

“Oh, that’s right: knives are first, bombs are second, and I think arsenic is fifth…” He was frowning and holding a finger to his cheek in mock concentration.

“What is it you get fifteen of at the reception in lieu of blenders?”

“Oh, you still get blenders–you can’t sit on a tropical beach earning twenty percent without blenders.” He looked like he’d just told a joke…

“Is… that supposed to be a quote?” Mycroft hazarded.

James sat back and blew out a puff of air. “Jokes lose so much without context… You REALLY need to get out more, Mycroft. It’s from the movie ‘Die Hard’: the dashingly well-dressed, multi-lingual thief who just explained a truly wonderfully executed plot–seriously, I could have designed it–says it.”

“Oh?” Mycroft smiled faintly. “Well you are dashingly well-dressed, and I suppose you’re multi-lingual, so I expect you identified with the character.”

“Oh, he’s far, far too hands-on, really, but… it’s Hollywood, what do you expect?” He smiled, “He’d just explained that the explosives and resulting demolition was to conceal their escape and then he says: ‘When they touch down, we'll blow the roof, they'll spend a month sifting through rubble, and by the time they figure out what went wrong, we'll be sitting on a beach, earning twenty percent.’ And really, it’s true, that’s what would have happened.”

“What goes wrong?” Mycroft asks, curious despite himself.

“Individual, unrealistically competent New York cop who wasn’t supposed to be in the building and singlehandedly managed to bollocks the entire thing up,” he shrugged, “and then they made a horrible sequel.”

“Oh, poor criminals,” Mycroft smirked at him. “All that hard work.”

“Oh, yes, no one appreciates art anymore.” James smirked back at him, “DO open the present.”

Mycroft opened the box and found a large container of absolutely top quality caviar–not labeled for export: he gasped despite himself. “Why, James, that’s… rather overwhelmingly generous.”

“It’s traditional to bring food or wine, isn’t it? I assume your cellar is well stocked, you don’t drink beer, and the only food I know you like…” he waved at the caviar. “Of course, as an ulterior motive I like it too.”

Mycroft suddenly realized that if he had, in fact, grown up hungry… then the manners he had were probably hard learned, and a gift of food was in fact very meaningful.

“I suppose a small bit of drink, and some caviar, wouldn’t be too much for a serious discussion, James. Please let me put this to use.”

James looked honestly delighted and Mycroft set them up with a bit to drink, some of the–extraordinary–caviar, and a few other tidbits.

“It seems a shame to spoil such a lovely setting with an unpleasant discussion,” Mycroft said mournfully after having some of the caviar.

“Is the situation going to go away?” James smiled and sat back, “I had to learn to ask that a long time ago. ‘If I ignore it will it go away? Will someone else fix it–well enough anyway? Is it going to get worse if I don’t jump on this right now?’.” He crossed his leg and clasped his hands over his knee. “Tedious, really, but necessary.”

“I eventually learned to ask that sort of thing,” Mycroft admitted. “At first, I rather tended to assume I had to do everything.”

“So… What’s the discussion?”

“Put simply? Our relationship is potentially lethal.” Mycroft watched him for a response, but he simply cocked his head and looked attentive.

“I am not widely known to be an Omega–”

“Obviously not, or I would have known,” James nodded.

“Not even within my office or government.”

“As I said.”

“If word got out, there are a number of people who would claim I was unfit for my position.”

“Patently ridiculous, but people are idiots.”

“Those who KNOW that I am an Omega have, as my brother correctly noted, been reassured by my lack of submissive characteristics… and lack of any interest in an Alpha.”

“Ah, yes… I can see where that would be an issue.”

“Combined with the fact that, assuming the situation didn’t explode over just that, anyone I was in a relationship with would be expected to pass a rather extensive background check…”

“Hmm… Tricky.” He looked off in that distant, thoughtful fashion. “Not impossible to arrange–rather a challenge, I suppose.”

“You see the issues…”

“The security clearance is the easiest to fix, but the rest are somewhat more difficult–”

Mycroft suddenly saw the irony in it and laughed, “Please Jim fix it for me?”

“Why CERTAINLY, Mycroft,” he grinned. “I always did love a challenge.”

“Without staging my death or murdering too many of the government?”

“Oh… Well, if you’re going to be difficult…..” he said lightly, sipping his drink. “I still think I could figure something out.”

“Do let me know if you can.” Mycroft winced, “Apparently my office has already started betting on who you are.”

“Yes, apparently the lead is I’m a spy you wanted taken in to the embassy.”

Rather strangled, Mycroft gasped, “You know that?!”

“Darling, your office leaks like a sieve…” He flashed him that dangerous grin again, “What was it you said? None of them can be trusted: they all spy on people for money.”

Mycroft groaned. “It’s that bad, is it?”

“Oh, it’s much worse than that, but I suspect you have enough to worry about,” James said with a sympathetic tone.

“Alright,” Mycroft sagged faintly. “Will you answer a question?”

“I already told you, you only have to ask.” James smiled at him and opened his hand in a “do go on” sort of gesture.

“You could have forced the issue, but you have been… excruciatingly polite.” James nodded. “Why?”

“Oh, well, that’s simple enough.”

“Is it? I can’t manage to figure it out.”

“That’s because you have horrid self-esteem,” James looked thoughtful, “which, if I had known back before, I could have… Ah, well.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him and waited.

“Put simply, I never wanted an Omega–or any kind of permanent relationship of that sort. Why should I saddle myself with some long term”–he smirked at Mycroft–“Goldfish, when I could always have one as a rental or something?”

“My office does leak like a sieve, I see.”

“I have very few people I allow near me, and, honestly, very few I WANT near me: they’re Boring.” He shrugged, “You and your brother were the only ones worth playing with. Now, you have to admit that your brother is very pretty, but I can get pretty anywhere. Pretty and smart enough to keep up? That’s rare.” He smiled in a surprisingly fond fashion, “I was rather thinking I could talk him into running off with me–competing over who could create the best crime? That would keep me from being bored for ages.”

“You’re both Alphas.”

“So? If he was interested in another Alpha that way, it would be brilliant–if not, it would still be brilliant.” James gathered up another bit of caviar and chewed thoughtfully. “Sex is lovely, but it’s far further down on the priorities than good conversation and not being bored. However, that relationship had several problems I was becoming aware of.”

“Other than my temptation to kill you?”

James looked shocked. “Mycroft!”

“I did rather think you would prefer to know the truth.” Mycroft was a bit startled by his reaction.

He shook his head vehemently, “Of course I prefer the truth. I meant, did you honestly think that the danger wasn’t a PLUS?!”

Mycroft felt the similarities to his brother clicking into place and sagged with his hand over his face, “Oh, dear God…”

James leaned over and patted him on the arm. “I’m sorry darling… I thought you knew. No, the problem is that Sherly dear simply can’t keep UP… If it weren’t for you throwing chaff in my way, I would have been running circles around him. He’s getting better, but…” James sighed and sat back, “mostly because he’s hung up on that ridiculously ethical Beta of his, so he’s paying more attention.”

“Alright, and any of this explains…” Mycroft tried to find a way to say it and finally resorted to cliché, “us?”

“Well, I thought you were smart–smart enough to be a challenge–but boring.” James looked quite apologetic, “I did say that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“You aren’t boring.”

“So why…” Mycroft grumbled and finally said, “NOT to put ideas in your head or anything, but why not Bond me when you found out and get all that information? Why not kidnap me?”

James sighed, “As I said, you have horribly low self-esteem. If I wanted anything out of your office, I would have it; if I wanted to kidnap you, I could have done it from your office any day–in fact, I would have preferred to as a challenge just to rattle people. I don’t want your silly government information, or the money I would get from selling you, or whatever else it is you’ve come up with–I want YOU: the only Omega I’ve ever met intelligent enough to be worth Bonding to.”

Mycroft was stunned speechless. He could certainly understand the desire for intellectual companionship, but…

James looked at him thoughtfully, “And before you even think it, Mycroft: a forced Bond is garbage. If you don’t want me as your Alpha, then that’s it. I decided as soon as I found out to see if we were actually compatible… and we are–remarkably so.”

“I was rather surprised by how much so,” Mycroft admitted.

James smiled again, “Then it simply remains to figure out the logistics, something that we are both fortunately very good at.”

“I cannot leave my post.”

“No, you WILL NOT leave your post, you certainly COULD… but I did rather understand that.” James shrugged, “For now. Eventually, you would have to find or train a replacement…” he grinned VERY wickedly, “or breed one.”

Mycroft froze; he’d long ago given up on the idea of children. A flash image of his brother as a child, clever and exuberant, appeared in his head, replaced by an image of a child much like him but with James’ nose and a wicked grin…

“They’d bring Britain to its knees by tea-time,” he said in something between terror and longing.

“OUR children, Mycroft?” James smirked, “By lunch. By Tea-time, they’d have the continent by the throat.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.imdb.com/character/ch0001757/quotes Die Hard quote on IMDB


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i am closing THIS arc on the last chapter (6) so i can start a new story arc. see details in chapter

hi everyone.  
after coming back and looking at this one again...i am closing THIS story arc on chapter 6 (the previous chapter) because...

 

this story, well it was sweet, and very positive, and a generally non stressful read, really.

in the next story arc we run into problems.  nasty problems. (NOT between Jim and Mycroft!)  and if you can't cope with that, or don't feel like reading it right now? there is no reason to  harsh your mellow.

 

so if you want to stop on this one?

they live happily if  oddly ever after, Sherlock is REALLY aggravated but eventually learns to live with it, and several  bad guys and bigots go down in flames.

the end

 

if you want the details? well the next arc will be posting soon.


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